


People Come Into Our Lives

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: A tiny bit, Act I, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Post-Bait and Switch, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris highly dislikes magic. Hawke is a mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Come Into Our Lives

The first time Fenris noticed, actually noticed, he’d been fighting four bandits along the edges of the Wounded Coast.

Now, he could say the first time he’d noticed was Danarius’ mansion. Of course he’d seen the lightning strike a shade as the demon had raised its arms against him. Of course he’d seen it flash between the creatures as if chasing clouds, conspicuous as much for not touching him as for existing to begin with. His entire body had frozen up at the sight, and he’d been sure to pinpoint its origin from then on. And it had come from the very man he’d asked to help him.

But somehow, the rest of what that man had done had escaped him. Until Hawke had asked him to accompany to the Wounded Coast, where bandits had set up camp. For some reason, this mage had seen fit to make it his job to clean them out, and for some reason, he’d asked Fenris to join him. They’d traveled there with two of Hawke’s friends, a dwarf with a smart comment permanently affixed to his tongue, and a red-headed human woman who wore her guard armor like a badge of pride. And that had been a surprise, as well, to see the mage had a guardsman in his pocket.

But perhaps it was because the man had headed through the Wounded Coast dispatching the area of the bandits and marauders with careful efficiency. Perhaps it was because the man told Fenris to wait until they attacked first, or because he always told them they could back down and still live. Something was strange from the beginning. Fenris had thought it was due solely to the strange actions, actions he’d never thought to see a mage take. But then he realized something was wrong with _him_.

At first, it was just the knowledge that something was just slightly off. His swings hit harder than he thought they should, though it could have been because of the better weapon Hawke had nearly thrust upon him. It might have been the rings or the amulet or the belt, all additions to his outfit that Hawke had demanded, the mage’s dwarf friend warning Fenris of Hawke’s penchant for getting into trouble. So he’d dismissed it.

But then, as those four bandits converged on him halfway up the cliffside, he saw the impossible happen. He took a clean cut to his inner arm as he slashed through one of the man. And as he watched, it disappeared.

Surprise turned quickly to rage. He used it to take out the remaining enemies, then rounded on the man standing surprisingly close. Closer than a mage should have stood in a battle. “What did you do?”

The man had the audacity to blink owlishly at him for several seconds. “Are you asking about my magic?”

Fenris was hard-pressed to keep from turning his weapon on the man. He reminded himself again that he owed the man a debt of gratitude. And this same man had already vowed to assist Fenris if and when Danarius came after him. Alienating this potential ally would not be wise. “Was there anything else to which I could be referring?”

Hawke tilted his head. There was a careful look in his eyes – one that Fenris had seen before, outside of Danarius’ mansion, when he’d called the man on his magic. He remembered that, here, magic was locked away, protecting the people from those who would use their power to corrupt and kill. This man needed to hide his ability. That, Fenris decided, gave him an advantage. “May I ask what part of my magic you’re concerned about? I thought you were already aware of it.”

His advantage, it seemed, did not extend very far; Hawke’s friends tensed, both of them holding suddenly wary glances on him. “You did something to me.”

Hawke blinked. “You mean heal you?”

He bristled. “Don’t put your magic on me.”

Hawke hesitated. “You’re on the frontlines of battle, Fenris. I–”

“I don’t care. Keep your magic to yourself.”

Azzan sucked in a sharp breath. Something shuttered in that vivid expression. Fenris felt something shiver up his spine, but the mage nodded. Fenris felt a tiny bit more tired, less energetic. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “All right,” Hawke said, and turned to his friends. “Aveline, do you mind…”

But the woman was already shaking her head, her eyes flinty as she gazed momentarily at Fenris. “No. I understand. We’ll go back.”

Fenris raised his chin. “Why are we turning back?”

Hawke still had that shuttered, distant look to him. “I’m a healer, Fenris,” he said, his voice somehow tired. Hollow. “I can’t help in battle if I can’t heal. And I’m not willing to send my friends into such a battle.”

Fenris was left stunned as Hawke turned away, leading them back the way they’d come. His mind spun. How many times had he stood before a mage, in front of Hadriana or Danarius or one of his countless magister allies, taking on his enemies’ ire as the magisters tore their enemies apart? But, as he thought back to the battle, he realized he’d failed to see even the lightning strike from before. He frowned at the realization. What, then, had the mage been doing? He remembered his wounds closing, the energy that steeled his muscles. He also remembered seeing an enemy freeze where he stood, his weapon raised to strike. He remembered simple spells, used to deflect or produce very slight damage – a kickback move, a blunt hit of magic aimed through the staff more than a deep usage of one’s own mana.

He stared at Hawke’s back. Could it be that this mage did not attack?

No, that couldn’t be fully true. He knew that lightning strike had come from the man. But why hadn’t he seen it?

He frowned. Could it be that the man chose to harm only rarely? And, in that battle, had he chosen to defend his allies rather than fight the enemies himself?

They barely made it halfway down the cliffside when a loud shout warned them of another attack. Fenris pulled his sword from his back and stepped forward. This time, he caught the tension lining the mage’s shoulders. “Figures,” the dwarf muttered, pulling his own strange crossbow forward. Fenris wondered if the others relied on their friend’s ability to heal.

Hawke’s guard friend, Aveline, moved forward to stand before him, her shield at the ready. Fenris snarled. He leaped upon the approaching enemies, taking two before Aveline came up by his side, shouting at their attackers to face her. Fenris called upon the power of his markings and shoved his opponents back.

The battle was simple, smooth now without the chaotic feel of magic touching him. He recognized the power in his swings, bore the pain from a few lucky swipes, each doing little more than clanging off his armor. He felled an enemy as a flurry of arrows felled two more.

But what was only a handful of enemies inevitably became ten more, as men and women came at them from both sides, attempting to pincer them in. Aveline was forced to leave his side to help the dwarf. He barely paid attention to where Hawke was, other than to see the man carefully in-between the warriors where he belonged. This time he heard the crack of lightning just as it snapped across the men before him. There was the power he expected from a mage. Yet, oddly enough, beyond that and another two enemies freezing in place, he saw nothing from the mage. Nothing but the usual directed attacks from the staff. The number of enemies quickly climbed from three to five to six. Fenris snarled and shoved forward. Someone git in a lucky hit, a swipe of a sword that snaked beneath his arm and into his side. His armor caught most of it, but not all. His breath left him in a rush.

Suddenly he faced a man’s back. He gripped his injured side and lifted his sword, only to find Hawke standing in front of him, the man’s back ramrod straight as he shoved Fenris’ enemies away with the power of his mind. The man shot bolts from his staff, downing one of the men before they could get back to him. The rest converged on him, yet the mage stood strong, taking cuts on his arms, chest, face, dodging without letting them reach Fenris. Behind them, Fenris heard the sounds of a crossbow firing, the dying gurgle of a man’s last cry. He turned to see Aveline standing like a wall before the dwarf, who picked off the enemies as she protected him. It hit him, suddenly, the teamwork inherent in their actions. The dwarf trusted the guardswoman to protect him as he fought, and the woman relied on him to relieve the pressure of the number of enemies before them.

He turned back to Hawke to see the man’s legs buckle, his blood dripping to the ground before them. Fenris tensed, ready to see that blood used to kill. Instead Hawke paused in his assault, slamming his staff to the ground and closing his eyes in momentary concentration. And, just as had happened with him, the man’s wounds sealed. Hawke continued to attack the instant the healing light dissipated.

Fenris gritted his teeth and launched himself back into the fray.

The battle ended with all of them injured and weary, a marked difference from the previous fight. Fenris stood strong, used to pain and injury, even that which was done to him by the very people he stood to protect. Hawke seemed to shake off the worst of his own many injuries and moved to check on his other friends. He healed Varric, spoke quietly with Aveline. The dwarf came to stand next to Fenris as he watched the mage put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“You know, Broody, you could at least consider the possibility that he’s different from the mages you knew.”

Fenris glared down at the man, but it didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. He narrowed his eyes instead. “I already know that.”

“Really?” The dwarf’s tone of voice told him the man didn’t believe him. “Odd, considering you refused to let him heal you. You’d think he was performing blood magic, the way you acted.”

Years of practice gave him the ability to control his body, keeping the grimace from crossing his features. In truth, feeling the mage’s touch on his skin _had_ reminded him of the blood rituals of his old masters. He remembered the strangely euphoric feeling that immediately preceded the extraction, as if the magic wished to lull him into a false sense of security before slowly draining him of his life. He remembered the dizziness, as well, and the shaky feeling of too little blood. He remembered fighting beyond that weakness, learning to become stronger for it. And he admitted, at least to himself, that the cool, cleansing feel of Hawke’s magic had brought him back to those memories, and that he’d reacted poorly.

One thing was for certain: if that magic were truly harmful, the mage would never have used it on himself.

He moved to stand by Hawke. He’d expected to be left waiting for a bit, but instead Hawke turned his immediate focus to him. Aveline gave Fenris a warning glare, but moved to stand with Varric, giving them the semblance of privacy. “Are you all right?” Hawke asked, looking him over. “You’re injured.” His lips twisted. “I have some health potions, if you’ll have them.”

Fenris didn’t know what to make of this man. He was a mage, yet he acted – Fenris didn’t know what he acted like, except a good man. He turned his head, this time letting the grimace slip free. “It… occurs to me that I may have been… hasty in my earlier judgment. I believed – well, it doesn’t matter.”

Hawke stood silent, and finally Fenris had to look back at him. Those bright blue eyes stared right at him. As if the rest of the world didn’t matter, so long as he was talking. He sucked in a breath. “I believe you when you say you are primarily a healer.”

Hawke tilted his head. Something seemed to happen behind those eyes. Fenris couldn’t place what it was, but whatever the man decided, he lifted his hand slightly. Just enough for Fenris to be aware of it. “May I?” he asked.

It would be a truce. And, truly, if Fenris were to allow such a thing on the battlefield, then he had to be used to its usage upon him. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

Hawke did not touch him, but waved his hand, palm out, slowly over Fenris’ collarbone and shoulder, where his muscles had locked around a cut that had sliced through the metal and into leather. The feeling of a cool breeze curled over his skin. Deep inside, he felt that bright warmth, as if something had unfurled within him. He watched the blood trickle to a stop, felt the aches and pains in his body fade to little more than a slight discomfort.

Hawke dropped his hand and stepped away. “Thank you,” Hawke said, his voice quiet, and turned away. Fenris watched, his mind trapped in itself.

This man. Thanked him. For letting him heal him.

He wasn’t certain what kind of mage he was dealing with. He wasn’t sure anymore what kind of _man_ he was dealing with. But for some reason, he found himself wanting to know. As if pulled into the man’s orbit. As if caught by the light of a shooting star.

Somehow, without being fully conscious of what he was doing, he fell into step with the rest. The next time they saw battle, Hawke stayed back again, that wash of cool heat thrumming through and around him once more. They defeated their enemies with ease.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Better or Worse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751420) by [Amethyst97Skye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye)




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